BLAZE
Hours.
Fucking hours, and no one is back.
Luther won’t stop convulsing. His body slams against the mattress, spine bowing like something’s trying to rip out of him, muscles locking so hard his f*****g teeth crack against each other. Every time he goes still, my breath chokes, waiting—counting—dreading the next sickening lurch. His chest barely moves, ribs cutting against his skin like they’re trying to claw their way out. Each breath is a battle. And he’s losing.
Damn it, Luther. Always diving headfirst into death like it’s some f*****g game.
I shove my forearm against his chest, forcing him down, nails biting deep into his sweat-slick skin. My other hand grips the sheets so hard my knuckles ache—because if I don’t hold onto something, I will tear this f*****g room apart.
Feve
